


dawning

by ohsusie



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Angst, Childhood Trauma, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Past Sexual Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:28:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27314800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohsusie/pseuds/ohsusie
Summary: he wakes up at 7:00, as he does every wednesday, drinks his instant coffee and brushes his teeth and gets ready to eat nothing at the breakfast buffet. then, the dam breaks. his mind blanks and all there is inside of him is pain and fear and loneliness. there's darkness and disgust and hands on his body, in his hair, stroking his cheeks. an inexplicable urge to step into the shower and boil his body to cleanliness.or; harry relives his trauma in a hotel room somewhere in asia.
Relationships: Dele Alli/Harry Winks
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	dawning

**Author's Note:**

> tw heavy trauma!!

harry's been getting better. the therapist appointments have done him good and he's eaten and slept properly for months now. it's the one thing he's taken pride in. 

on a wednesday morning during tottenhams's annual asia tour, however, everything falls apart. the girl he brought home to the hotel and went to bed with left while he was sleeping, he's so hungry but the mere thought of eating makes bile rise in his throat and he just feels so, so unwanted in this world.

he wakes up at 7:00, as he does every wednesday, drinks his instant coffee and brushes his teeth and gets ready to eat nothing at the breakfast buffet. then, the dam breaks. his mind blanks and all there is inside of him is pain and fear and loneliness. there's darkness and disgust and hands on his body, in his hair, stroking his cheeks. an inexplicable urge to step into the shower and boil his body to cleanliness. 

why did the girl leave? why didn't she wake him up? why did she kiss him goodnight when she wasn't going to kiss him good morning? (because she knows, because you tried to hide when she touched you, because you refused to let go of her, because you forgot her name, because you're a mess.)

it's become so difficult for him to cry. he's sure he ran out of tears a few months ago, at the peak of him realizing and reliving his trauma. over and over and over. everything would feel so much better if he could cry, with his head buried in pillows and blankets and his pain finding a way out of him through uncontrollable sobs. but his body won't let him. all his body lets him do is sit there, almost as if he was paralyzed.

his phone won't stop going off behind him. it's probably their group chat, or his private chat with dele. dele doesn't double text, he octuple texts. harry usually isn't disturbed by it, but today he just wishes there wouldn't be any unnecessary disturbances. he can't respond, though, tell him to shut up and bother someone else, because his brain is empty and incapable of articulating anything coherent. it's probably for the best. trauma didn't make him soft, kind, pure. it made him angry, hurt, bitter. mean.

there's a huge lump in his throat that makes it hard to breathe, probably made up of tears that need to be shed but can't find their way out. it's like his body's trying to prepare for something his mind can't comprehend, like it's trying to keep him closed off and uncaring just in case, because being the opposite only hurts.

his phone still won't be quiet. it's gone from beeping to ringing, meaning someone's calling him. he forces himself to pick it up, and immediately presses the dismiss icon when he sees that it's hugo. hugo's nice, but too harsh. he doesn't understand that raising his voice only will make harry feel more detached, like he doesn't belong anywhere, not even in his own body.

the display tells him it's 9:03. a knock on the door penetrates his thoughts, like thunder waking him from his sleep or the ref's whistle interrupting a perfect cross. as if he was on autopilot, harry stands up from the bed to open the door. he hopes it isn't mourinho, or lloris, or the team doctor. he doesn't want to be understood, or sympathized with, today. then again, he doesn't really know what he wants today. other memories, another life, maybe no life at all.

it's only dele. he's got his phone clutched in one hand, the same phone that just sent harry sixteen messages, and a plate of bread, fruit and nuts in the other. his eyes look so kind that harry has to look away because he doesn't deserve that look, he's filthy and sick and his mind is a war zone that no one should try to enter.

"good morning," dele says, gentle as always. "how are we doing today?"

he puts the plate down on the desk right next to the hallway and reaches out to run his hand through harry's hair, but it doesn't feel okay, not at all, he's too dirty to be touched, he'll soil everything that comes too close to him. 

"if you touch me, i'll kill you," harry croaks, and as soon as the words leave him, he regrets it. he's full of hurt and resentment, but dele has no part in it. he doesn't deserve to be forced into the darkness that surrounds harry, he deserves kindness and sunshine and physical touch.

dele retreats his hand again, lets it hang at his side instead, and harry can feel his worried gaze burning into him. he shouldn't be worried, he should be disgusted, he should be halfway out of the hotel room.

"why did i say that?" harry's hands have started to shake at his sides and he wants to cry, god he wants to lie down on the floor and sob, but he can't. "i'm sorry. i'm sorry. i don't want to ruin you, i ruin everything, i-"

"do you need to lie down?" dele asks, and harry nods, doesn't stop nodding until dele's managed to get him back in bed and tucked in (without directly touching him, only giving instructions through words and soothing him through three layers of fabric).

it's only a dissociative episode. that's all. that's all. a few months ago, he knew exactly how to handle them, but it's been so long and he feels so, so unsafe in a bed that isn't his own, in a room where other people have slept, fought, had sex. under the duvet that the girl he brought there has laid on.

dele doesn't seem to have forgotten, though. he talks to him, like he always does, telling him about mundane things and about his new special interest (harry isn't listening but he thinks it might be human anatomy), trying his absolute best to keep harry in the present and aware of his surroundings.

he can hear dele talking about something eric said during breakfast, and a sudden, overwhelming feeling of loneliness overcomes him. it scares him. he's had clingy phases before, where he refused to leave whoever was his favorite person at the time's side, and many relationships were ruined because he wanted to be their favorite, too, didn't want them to ever be close to someone else.

"hold my hand?" he asks, probably interrupting dele midsentence but being so desperate for confirmation that he isn't completely unlovable, and that dele can be close to more people than eric, that he doesn't even care. he doesn't want to be touched but god, he really wants to be held, loved, comforted.

dele does as he says without questioning it even once. harry doesn't know if he's imagining it, but he can see the filth from his own body creeping its way to dele's hand, up his torso to his face, turning him grey and distorted. he's contagious, he should stay away, he shouldn't have asked dele-

"there's nothing wrong with you," dele says. he doesn't let go of his hand, even when harry can see his skin crack and fall apart. "you're allowed to be close to me. nothing will happen."

"i'm ruining you."

dele sighs, and harry hates it. he hates feeling like a disappointment, like a disturbance or a child that needs to be disciplined. please don't be angry, don't hate me, i'm trying, please. there's no disappointment in dele's actions when he lies down next to harry and wraps his arms around him, though. his hands don't linger anywhere, and there's no skin to skin contact, because somehow, he knows.

"you aren't dirty or contagious. or worthless. or whatever you feel like you are right now. you're worth everything in the world."

and harry's crying. there are big, fat tears rolling down his cheeks, soaking into the pillow beneath his head. a huge sob makes its way out of his throat and the lump gets a little bit smaller, a little bit easier to handle.

"i'm sick," he croaks, feeling a lifetime of pain crash into him, forcing tears that feel like they will never end out of him. "i'm so sick, i brought a girl here and i thought i could do it and i thought i could be normal but i couldn't and she left and i'll always be sick and worthless and i'm ruining everything and-"

he keeps rambling until his sobbing turns into dry heaving and his brain is out of words to express everything he's feeling. dele doesn't interrupt, not even once, only interfering with his feelings by softly humming and running his knuckles over harry's duvet-covered arms.

"it's okay to not be ready," dele soothes when he's sure that harry's ready to hear it. "you have an entire lifetime to get better. not being able to forget or get over it doesn't make you sick or worthless. you're not at fault for anything that happened."

the warmth that radiates from his entire being makes harry turn around in dele's arms to face him instead of the wall. he notices that dele's face isn't distorted anymore, even after holding harry for what feels like hours. his eyes are brown and he's tan from the dubai sun.

harry's hurt. not contagious. he finds the courage to reach out and run his thumb over dele's cheek, right where he got a sunburn last week. there's still no sign of distruction.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading, hope u liked it<3 leave kudos and comments if u feel like it!


End file.
